


A Rash Decision

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Early episodes, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Humor, John is a Saint, M/M, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 22:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11194497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Sherlock allows vanity to override sanity with painful results.





	A Rash Decision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/gifts), [I_am_lampy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/gifts).



> This is inspired by the typical June heat/humidity misery days of my home, the American Midwest. If you aren't here, good for you!

Jesus fucking Christ, John Watson was literally melting. As he stood on the pavement watching Sherlock circle the body resting atop the boot of a parked car, he could feel the sweat running from his forehead, down his back, along his legs and out of his trousers to puddle around his feet.

 

The doctor's mood was already surly at best due to the beastly heat, and rowing with Sherlock before they left the flat hadn't helped matters. His "darling" lover had been derisive in his assessment of John's attempts to dress for the weather calling his short sleeve shirt and light weight trousers "worse than the rags worn by my homeless network." 

 

This prickled even now as the posh detective was virtually "swaning" around in his usual bespoke suit, dark shirt and leather shoes. If HE was perspiring it wasn't obvious. To make matters worse, the case was clearly a suicide.

 

"Poor bugger probably thought this was better than this damned heat", John huffed, immediately turning red at voicing this less than appropriate remark aloud.

 

Lestrade nodded, "No worries mate, I know what you mean. Don't imagine the irony of his landing on his ex-wife's car is lost on His Majesty."

 

Sherlock sniffed, "Don't be dense Gerald, of course he planned his target. A final fuck off to the little woman."

 

The Inspector raised his eyebrows at the unusual burst of profanity and teased, "Seems the heat is getting to you too Detective GQ."

 

Throwing a disdainful look at the older man he sneered, "The heat is of no concern to me other than the aggravation of being in the presence of two such delicate wilting flowers as you and John."

 

"There's no need to be rude Sherlock. Pardon the rest of us for being human. Most people try to wear less clothing in a bloody steam bath."

 

"Indeed. Witness John's brilliant innovation of open toed sandals WITH socks. Perhaps if you are quite done wasting my valuable time with cases that are a minus eight, I can spirit him away before the press catches wind of his appalling fashion sense."

 

"Go on with you then, and good riddance you miserable sod. John he's all yours if YOU aren't embarrassed to be seen with HIM."

 

The blogger didn't need to see Sherlock to know his face would be twisted in a frown, "Why should he be ashamed of me? I am impeccably dressed as always."

 

John sighed, "That's the point genius. Only you would dress for success in the middle of the Afghani desert."

 

"Desert? Are you hallucinating John? I see no sand dunes or..."

 

"Sherlock shut the hell up and let's go home. There's an ice bath with my name on it waiting."

 

The last thing Greg heard was John cursing loudly after being told all the ice in the flat "may" have been used in an earlier experiment on evaporation. For once, Lestrade was "happy" to be left alone with a dead body. At least the corpse wasn't set on making his life unbearable.

 

Once back at Baker Street, John stripped bare and fairly jumped into a cold shower, although the water wasn't really cold. At least tepid was preferable to boiling. He came out in only a pair of thin white boxers to find Sherlock in his favored pajama bottoms, tea shirt and dressing gown.

 

"God above Sherlock, are you deliberately being stubborn? How can you sit around with all that on in this heat?"

 

"I'm not given to stubbornness John, I simply refuse to lower my standards for something as mundane as warm air."

 

"Warm air? I could fry an egg on the window sill."

 

"By all means John, feel free to entertain yourself however you wish. I have research to attend to."

 

His irritation overcome by his need for food and several liters of water, the doctor set about making a cold meal for himself and the mad scientist.

 

Sherlock rarely acknowledged a kindness but did show his appreciation by devouring the salad, cold sandwiches and ice cream John prepared for him.

 

Satisfied with the wordless thanks, "mother hen John" resurfaced. "Lock, at least take a cool shower. Even if you dress again, your core temperature will go down. Please for me?"

 

"Your concern is duly noted doctor Watson, but my transport is quite content."

 

Waggling his eyebrows John purred, "We could shower together love, yeh?"

 

"John even YOU must realize that would create more heat not less, do keep up."

 

A lock of his silver blond hair drooping over one eye, John ignored the slightly hurtful remark. "Well how about I put the sheets in the fridge and when we go to bed, it will be cool and comfy."

 

"Comfy? Really John are you having a heat stroke or merely headed towards second childhood?"

 

"There's only one child here Sherlock Holmes and it's not me. Maybe you want to sleep alone tonight, that it?"

 

"Wasn't planning on sleeping, and I can't believe you would want a bedmate in this supposed heatwave. A night alone seems just what you need Watson."

 

Now John WAS hurt. They never deliberately slept apart anymore, only extreme illness or injury put them in separate beds, and sometimes not even that. "Fine! I'll see to my own bedding Ta very much, and you can go to...to wherever you want."

 

~~~***~~~

 

The cold sheets had helped but John's sleep was fitful at best. Good as his word, Sherlock didn't come to bed and, even more annoying, the new day found him once again fully outfitted head to toe.

 

Holding his tongue until he served a breakfast of cold fruit, cold cereal and more water, John finally spoke. "Sherlock, I'm serious now. It's hotter today than yesterday. You need to take care of your health. Wear lighter colors to start. Black and purple?"

 

"My health, like my mental acuity, is flawless. Besides, Lestrade has a case. If you can ooze your sweltering flesh to the door, we need to go. Drowning in the Thames."

 

"Thank God for small shit, if nothing else, I can throw myself in."

 

"Are you going to be ridiculous all day?"

 

"If it serves to irritate you, I just might do."

 

"You always irritate me John. Hurry along will you. Dead bodies tend to swell and smell in humidity, and you seem rather squeamish these days."

 

Before John could respond, the lanky brunette was out the door, and God help him, the doctor grabbed his gun and thundered after him. 

 

This time, it WAS murder but to Sherlock's dismay only a two. "Clearly, Godwin, the man was a passenger on a sightseeing cruise and was thrown overboard by his wife who recently discovered he was crossdressing."

 

Lestrade grimaced, "Oh clearly. How do you figure?"

 

"The ticket stub in his pocket, his red lace panties and camisole under his clothes, and the "grieving" widow who appears far more disgusted than distressed. This supposed heat seems to have diminished your brain cells considerably."

 

"Oi! If I wanted insulting, I'd go back to the Yard. Just take one more look and then do us both a favor and disappear!"

 

John placed a hand on his friends shoulder. "I'm sorry about him Greg, these last days he's been a demon from hell, as if it isn't hot enough here as it is."

 

"It's just him being his lovely self. Got to say though John, I'd think he'd be in a better humor what with him being so well rogered. Well done you."

 

"I don't understand."

 

Greg snorted, "You trying to tell me he's walking like that because you two have been horseback riding? Can't hide something like that."

 

It was only then that John really took note of Sherlock's awkward gait. His regal walk was off in more ways than one. What had the git done now? When they got home he would find out!

 

~~~***~~~

 

They were barely inside the door of the flat when Captain Watson emerged. "Strip Sherlock, this second!"

 

"While the heat does not affect me, that doesn't mean I am actively seeking penetrative sex John."

 

"Oh nice, romantic that, Lord Byron. I don't want sex, I want to know what insane thing you've done to hurt yourself."

 

The verdigris eyes widened, "I'm not "hurt" as you put it, so kindly piss off!"

 

"That's it brat! You are most certainly in pain and as your doctor I am going to find out why. Get out of those clothes, NOW!"

 

With that, John swung alongside his younger lover and smacked him firmly on the arse. It was a stout blow but had no anger behind it. So John was stunned when Sherlock actually wailed and crumpled to the floor.

 

John was immediately on his knees, "Dammit Sherlock I knew it! Let me help you. Come on pet, into the bedroom and out of these hot clothes."

 

Barely shuffling, Sherlock allowed himself to be led to the dark, somewhat cooler room. Gently, John removed the suit coat and frankly sodden shirt, thankful there was nothing underneath. Then came the shoes and socks.

 

Reaching for the trousers, John's hands were grabbed by long elegant fingers. "Trust me love, it's just us."

 

John shook his head ruefully at the sight of the black silk pants plastered to Sherlock's abdomen and thighs. Could he have worn anything hotter except maybe bloody wool?

 

Peeling off the shiny material, a moment struck where the doctor nearly laughed. It passed quickly however when he saw how much pain his lover was suffering. Sherlock's groin, genitals and buttocks were covered with a feverish bumpy rash. John had only seen those posh arse cheeks that color red when he had made them like that himself. Clinically assessing the situation, he made his diagnosis.

 

"Love what you have here is a really bad case of heat rash."

 

Sherlock bristled, "I'm not an infant John!"

 

"Never said you were, sweet boy, and I said heat rash, not diaper rash. Unless you've been wearing wet nappies when I'm not home."

 

The younger man's face was a mixture of pain and humiliation. John was having neither. "None of that sweetheart. We're going to get you sorted in a jiffy. First for chamomile tea."

 

"Tea? Tea!! I'm burning alive and you want hot tea?!"

 

"Oh, so NOW you admit to being hot. Too bad you didn't before this got that bad. The tea is for you to bathe in, best cure there is. Afraid no milk or sugar for you though", John giggled.

 

"Dark humor in my time of agony, thank you doctor Watson for your tender bedside manner."

 

"No extra charge for the service Mister Holmes. Now into the tea tub you get."

 

~~~***~~~

 

The almost instant relief of the bath did little to improve Sherlock's temperament when John insisted the follow-up treatment was covering the afflicted areas with olive oil. Here again, John's wry wit was NOT appreciated.

 

"Well love, considering our love life, at least we don't have to bother with extra virgin oil."

 

"I shall soon expire from your attempts at jocularity at my expense John. I am to be debased in my hour of need."

 

John placed a kiss on tousled locks and smiled, "Not debased darling, basted. A thin coating of oil on both sides and lightly toasted until golden brown."

 

Sherlock groaned, "I must admit to a certain fantasy involving you and olive oil John. This was not a part of it."

 

"Sorry beautiful, no more teasing. You've really gotten yourself into a right mess here, and why? To prove a point? That the great Sherlock Holmes is above the effects of temperature? What's next, winters in Siberia in a Speedo?"

 

The high cheekbones flushed the same red as the other cheeks. "I should be above the needs of my stupid transport. It's unseemly and undignified."

 

John continued applying the oil wincing himself at the raw irritation of Sherlock's abused penis and scrotum. Massaging the inflamed arse he loved so well he tsked, "Unseemly and undignified. That's what you used to say about sex. Managed to change your mind about that. So, no more ridiculous tantrums during heatwaves or blizzards, understood?"

 

"I was not having a tantrum, I was exercising the principle of mind over matter."

 

"Yes, and I must say it worked brilliantly for you. What do I have to do to insure this never happens again? You've already "spanked" your own arse, and managed to put sex off the schedule for us both for a few days."

 

The soft shy response was startling, "You don't have to go without, I mean I could..."

 

"Lock, sex for me now is all about love, and that means mutual pleasure for both of us. It'll only be a few days."

 

Sherlock brightened. "Well then, I suppose no punishment is available to you. Pity for you Captain Watson", he laughed.

 

"Wouldn't tempt the Fates if I were you, berk. Karma is a bitch."

 

"Honestly John the drivel that pours from your mind at times. As if some agent of retribution is outside our door."

 

At that precise moment, Mycroft strode into the sitting room and stepped to the bedroom door, umbrella at the ready, brown paper wrapped parcel in hand.

 

"Good afternoon gentlemen. Bearing up under the weather are we?"

 

John remained seated on the bed as Sherlock scrambled to cover himself with an oil slick sheet. Both men were stunned at the eerie timing of the others appearance.

 

"It seems I've arrived at an inopportune time, so I will be brief. I have been made aware of your discomfort brother mine and have come to offer my well wishes. John I believe you will find this aloe vera ointment quite beneficial. It is an institutional size container should Sherlock engage in further reckless behavior. I will always be available to supply you with more at any time. Simply keep me apprised of Sherlock's fits of pique. A joy to share time with you both as always. Good day John, and take care of the results of your latest "experiment" dear brother."

 

With that he was gone, leaving John snickering and Sherlock in the beginnings of a strop.

 

"Well love, it appears your additional punishment came in the form of a Fate called The British Government."

 

"His interference is intolerable John! What an insufferable arsehole!"

 

"Oh I don't know, I think he's just the thing to curb your enthusiasm for stupidity."

 

"You hate me!"

 

"No I adore you, and shortly I'm going to snog the stuffing out of you to prove it. But, I for one, am glad to have Mycroft on my side. Between us, maybe we can keep you from making another Rash Decision."

**Author's Note:**

> This is in honor of ChrisCalledMeSweetie and her hilarious "Pants on Fire." And dedicated to my Texas Twin (one generation removed), I_am_lampy, who has enriched my life with her friendship and support. You two are STARS!
> 
> ** The tea and olive oil are actual recommended treatments for severe heat rash.


End file.
